Introduction are always crucial
by Romantic.Rights
Summary: How two completely different and incompatible men could stumble together, no one knew... nor did they care. One elite jounin, though, was introduced to an entire world of new things. KakaIru
1. Ch 01 He should have known

**Title:** Introductions are always crucial.

**Genre: **Dark humour/ Comfort, if that can be…

**Characters: **HatakeKakashi, Umino Iruka

**Rating: **T, for violence and language.

**Progress** : Complete, One-shot.

**Summary: **How two completely different and incompatible men could stumble together, no one knew. Well, no one but the first of them.

**Disclaimer: **Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto.

_AN: My personal try at the 100 themes Challenge. As the title says, this short fiction stands for #1 Introduction._

--

Introductions , as every shinobi still whole and _alive_ knows, are always crucial.

The momentum before brain and reflexes engage is the difference in-between miracle and failure, shame and joy, grief and laughter.

One leaf shinobi was introduced to life with one constancy: distance. First, it had been the gap in-between his father and the crowd in the streets, than it grew and became the cold indifference in his mother's eyes as she walked away during the ungodly hours of _that_ Tuesday morning. From the age gap in-between his team mates, the innocence of the children of his age, to the symbol on the forehead protector of his enemies, they all created a growing ravine that pushed Hatake Kakashi, and later on the Legendary Copy Ninja, _away _from_ everything_.

Distance was his mantra, philosophy and burden. It also became his greatest asset when facing the hardship of a shinobi's existence.

He should have known distance was essential, always.

Also, he should have known better than to be careless and allow this one to slip away during something as crucial as an introduction.

However, just as his very own eyelash batted to shield his eye from a puff of warm air, he realised that he _hadn't. _The exhalation of the other's man breath stank of alcohol and tea, of all things, and he vaguely remembered that he was partly responsible of the current mess he was sprawled in. Asking to share a cup of tea with teachers of highly hazardous mental stability certainly hadn't been the brightest thing to do.

Trying to inebriate him out of his anal stiffness apparently wasn't one _either, _and he guessed the worst part was that, being a genius, he had managed to carry out this stupid, incoherent, fruitless half-arsed plan of his.

Kakashi had been introduced to many things that day. He discovered that not only could the fiery temper of the teacher be triggered with a deadly accuracy by anything bearing parental advisory, but that said "advisory" should have been worn by the man himself when he was truly angered and out of earshot of said "parental" figures. He also discovered that despite the plastic pellicle he had warped his newest Icha Icha Paradise volume into, said Icha Icha Paraside was not waterproof.

Or, at least, not fish tank proof.

He was also brought to recognise that, contrary to popular belief, Umino Iruka was not timid, nor easily impressionable, and nor did he have more than one pair of eyes. On a secondary note, some worthy detail, he also discovered that very spicy chili sauce could cause temporary blindness and high degrees of pain, and thus decided to add a small bottle of the substance to his current arsenal of weapons.

But, more importantly, upon that once blissfully boring Monday evening and squeezed in-between the back of a couch and the wall with an awfully sharp corner of the living room table poking way too close to his remaining eye and an equally sharp knee pinning him down on the dusty floorboards in his own apartment, he realised that this was the first time he was really introduced to Umino Iruka rather than the ever polite Iruka-sensei. There, the veteran shinobi and honorary member of Those whom Fate wants to Fuck With was forced to harshly regret his comfortable cocoon of distance he had spun during so many years.

His sharingan eye was starting to throb faintly from the extensive time he kept it open, but Kakashi remained unmoving, simply staring at the tanned chunin kneeling upon him. Iruka's hair was a wild tangled mess, sticking out in all directions from it's usual neat ponytail, and one of his eyes was squirmed shut firmly and still valiantly crying to clear the remainder of hot chilli pepper sauce he hadn't managed to wipe away, making him a wholly miserable and comical sight, but he was _there_. He was still there, after Kakashi shouted at him, yelled at him that he was a pathetic and worthless worm to this village. The damn insufferable brat remained even after an elite jounin tried to bodily throw him out of the window after he compared him to the White Fang.

And, not only was he there, but Iruka was _close_. Kakashi never asked for it, and never would have in his right mind, but when the drunk brunette's balance finally failed and he collapsed, Kakashi only opened his arms and pulled him tight against his chest.

Because, if _he_ had indeed failed his introduction and made a miserable sore, bruised loser of himself, Iruka hadn't botched _his_. Iruka introduced himself as a strong, dependable, resilient, fiery mule who just won't shut up when he should, and Kakashi was swept off his feet.

When the chunin left at some ungodly early hour the following Tuesday, he didn't go too far either.


	2. Intermission 01

**Title: **On the night of ANBU Hound.

**Genre: ** Character Introspection?

**Characters: **Hatake Kakashi

**Rating: **T, for depressing.

**Progress : **Complete, Two-shots.

**Summary: **On a certain time of a moment of their lives, Death slipped in through an open window and faced our favourite two very different men. It didn't come to discuss weather over a cup of tea.

_A/N: Tonight, I tried to tackle two more themes of the 100 themes challenge. Two themes, two characters… I decided to make two drabbles. These are not really KakaIru, since back then both characters didn't know each other, but it fits into the world of __Introduction are always crucial so I decided to post them anyway._

**On the night of ANBU Hound.**

(#15 Dream. )

On the night of ANBU Hound's promotion to veteran status, he understood what was hell. Too late, but he understood this small chip of information through the roaring choas of battle cries, howls of anguish and the broken expression of the Third He had_ seen._ And what a sharigan sees, it never forgets. Now, every time the Hound is called to duty, Kakashi closes his eye to peer out though the acidic, twisting agony his memory never forgave.

Uncoiling like a rare and exotic bloom, ugliness appears.

Hell is a strange thing, Kakashi thinks.

Darkness shrouds everything, swallowing flickers, colours, shapes and sounds. Then, deep within the void, his skin peels back and exposes countless fraying nerves, leaving him barren and raw. They quiver, string, and grapple at his limbs like talons. Pain is everywhere and so strong he doesn't even feels it as he walks on into the maws of the roaring furnace, and his steps crushes living corpses who struggle to recoil from his touch. Sometimes, he keeps walking for days. Other times, he walks for months. There were a few where he even forgot his own name, becoming not much more than another moaning ghost amongst a thousand. Except that he is silent.

Hell is no place for words, Kakashi thinks.

When he was first thrown into these endless pits, he hadn't understood why the dead scurried away from him as if he was the reaper himself. Truth was that it was because he was the exact opposite; he had the ability to _keep_ them alive. It was because of Obito's eye and his own memory. They didn't want to be doomed through the eternity of his mind's eye reality. He could only approve, he didn't want to suffer such a fate himself.

Every single morning, at the crack of dawn, he stares out at the roaming ghosts of fallen soldiers and comrades. His body stands there for hours, his shoulders crumbling under the weight of all those _ifs, _and his mind wanders far, far away.

Hell is a warm and comfortable place, Kakashi thinks.

Familiar to his mind, where darkness tugs at his senses and makes him so _aware_. His time in hell is a long one, and he trudges through it without haste. He likes it in his hell, it serves him fine.

For a sinner and griever like himself, hell is life... or life _is_ hell.

Kakashi only thinks it is a sad thing his legend is expected to live for so long, because he can only dream of heaven.

He dreams of a place where there is no more dawns.


	3. Intermission 02

**Title:** On the day of Umino Iruka

**Genre:** Character Introspection?

**Characters:** Umino Iruka

**Rating:** T, for depressing.

**Progress :** Complete, Two-shots.

**Summary:** On a certain time of a moment of their lives, Death slipped in through an open window and faced our favourite two very different men. It didn't come to discuss weather over a cup of tea.

_A/N: Tonight, I tried to tackle two more themes of the 100 themes challenge. Two themes, two characters… I decided to make two drabbles. These are not really KakaIru, since back then both characters didn't know each other, but it fits into the world of Introduction are always crucial so I decided to post them anyway._

**On the day of Umino Iruka.**

(#10 Breath Again.)

On the day of Umino Iruka's fourteen birthday, he shared his third kiss. The lips against his own were slack and cold and he wondered about whom did the girl think about as he pressed himself tight against. Her eyes were unfocused and cloudy.

They were accusing too.

The chunin didn't feel the sting of remorse though, only a coldness that matched that of his unresponsive partner. It wasn't an extraordinary kiss. In fact, he doubted there was anything extraordinary at all in his life aside from the distant memory of a blood thirsty demon ravaging his home, but he knew he would never forget it nonetheless.

Their kiss lasted three minutes and forty-seven seconds, and no matter how hard he tried, he did not manage to push the air back into her lunges. His warmth, or whatever was left of it, didn't reach her. Her heart's beat did not match his rhythm.

On the day of his fourteen birthday, Iruka killed for the first time.

It was an accident.

His sensei was not pleased, nor would she ever be anything else anymore.


	4. Ch 02 The demise of common sense

Title: The demise of common sense.  
Genre: Dark humour/ Comfort, if that can be…  
Characters: Hatake Kakashi, Umino Iruka  
Rating: T, for violence and language.  
Progress : Complete, One-shot.

Summary: The correlation in-between Umino Iruka and Life.  
Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto.

AN: First of all, thank you to my reviewers!

For what concerns the intermissions, they are more nebulous and experimental texts that serve only to explore the characters. They'll eventually grow to make more sense as the story unfolds so it's quite normal if they appear really strange at moment.

Anyway, this is second _real_ installment to this series of drabbles. This one stands for #33 Expectations of the 100 challenges, and as a gift for Kakashi's birthday.

33. Expectations

Well, this hadn't been what he had expected.

The pain, yeah sure, there had always been a possibility. After all, he knew that despite his harmless paper pusher looks, one Umino Iruka was still a part-time shinobi. No, after a thought, he had to be a full time shinobi in order to manage to look that pristine after spending 7 hours a day in the deepest pits of hell. ( He was quite certain most people called said pits the "Ninja Academy", but Kakashi knew that it was just some false pretence to hide the ugliness of reality.) Heck, the guy's ponytail could even put to shame the sparkles of Gai's grin when the wind blew in the right direction…

Being a genius Shinobi as well, he had also learned to expect the unexpected. As he had previously mentioned, his entire "legendary" reputation was built on his "unexpectable" asset. He had also been outwitted many times during his carrier, so he knew both sides of the coin like the back of his glove. His whole "Look underneath the underneath" rant really meant " always be extremely suspicious, because life is a devious wench and will fuck you in the end anyway."

As an example, he had ended up screwed three weeks ago on a certain evening. Quite spectacularly at that, he might add.

He had also learned many, many things, and rearsed his entire approach of his current problem according to this new information. Of course the very next time he ended up on a certain chunin's doorstep, he ended up fucked anyway. Again. At this point, some strange correlation in-between Life and Iruka began to establish in his mind's intricate network. The results were rather blunt and graphic, but at least they were quite easy to understand. They consisted in four words: They'll screw you.

So, on the day of his birthday, it was a quite unnerved Shanrigan Kakashi that stood rigid in the middle of his spotless clean( or sterilized) kitchen. He didn't know what distressed him the most; his inner battle to fight down nervous twitches or the mere presence of the brown-eyed threat sitting at his kitchen counter.

Not to mention that he had brought food.

Kakashi was just back from a two weeks long reconnaissance mission, he needed food. It was probably the food that had undone him back when he had been standing with both feet firmly planted onto his "screw off" door mat with the firm intention to tell the infuriating school-teacher just that. But, he had waved the brown paper bag just then. The brown paper that was always associated with the blissful and most tasteful miso soup with eggplants.

When Kakashi's common sense had been cruelly slaughtered by his basic instinct, the bastard had the cheek to smirk.

It was same smirk he currently wore as he patiently and painstakingly slowly set the table for two, giving quick glances in Kakashi's general direction.

"So…" He started, after the food was craftily set as to display all of it's awful godliness to the jounin's unmasked eye. The chunin hadn't started to eat yet, apparently waiting for his host to join him. Kakashi's stomach grumbled.

" So what?" Came the jounin's gruff response as he valiantly resisted the temptation.

A sigh, the same sigh Kakashi knew Iruka gave to petulant children, escaped from the brunette before the chunin slipped back on his mellow smile and warm demeanour. "How was your mission?" He prodded innocently, as he always seemed to be.

" … Good." The reply was short, voiced in-between two mouthfuls of the heavenly meal. The crafty man also used the moment to shift his newly acquired seat closer to the chunin's one in order to have better access to his companion's bowl when the need would arise. Kakashi was only human, after all...

"Is that why you are limping?" Of course, Iruka had to use the I'm-a-teacher-and-thus-am-better-than-thou look on him. Kakashi smirked, mostly from the fact that he found the scrunched down eyebrows and narrowed eyes awfully endearing. The chunin should know better than to think it would work on a jounin; Kakashi was full grown adult. Then, Iruka started to drag his own bowl away from Kakashi's reach, and he decided that perhaps he would let it work just this once.

" ...I-I didn't twist it during the mission."

The bowl inched back closer.

" And why didn't you get it treated? If it's on the behalf of your stupid pride, Hatake…" Another warning glare later and said Hatake was eyeing his "second" bowl of miso soup warily.

" It's not."

Disbelief on the chunin's behalf, his tanned arm was still hovering protectively around his meal.

" Tsunade doesn't want me to. She said to let it heal naturally." The jounin's confession sent Iruka's second eyebrow joining the second high up on his forehead.

" I… upset her while she patched me up earlier this morning. She said something about me being lucky that she didn't send my foot flying where she thought it should go." A bright smile covered up the faint embarrassment brought by the last statement, and Kakashi was suddenly very glad he wore his mask.

" Where? In your ass or mouth?" The teacher deadpanned back, and the jounin had the decency to choke onto a particularly large swallow.

" But seriously, why did you need to see Tsunade? " He asked instead, however more carefully this time. Kakashi also noticed the playful threatening demeanour wasn't there anymore and that instead the man's bowl had joined his. " The mission wasn't supposed to be anything too dangerous… right?"

" Well, let's say the intelligence forgot to mention a thing or two on the mission scroll."

" Oh."

" I got caught."

" Oh."

Kakashi noticed only a beat later when gentle fingers started to prod underneath his vest, slowly taking out the absurd arsenal the jounin kept there in order to check for the familiar texture of bandages. The worried frown that marred the chunin's feature's proved that Kakashi let on much more of his weariness and exhaustion by this slip alone than thorough the entire meal, that or he was displeased with the actual amount of bandages he discovered. " Did you… Did you need patching very badly?"

"Kind of..." Kakashi had calculating look to his eye, searching for his (Friend? Lover? Acquaintance?)'s reaction to his words.

The hands stopped their weary exploration. " Are you alright now?"

" I guess."

Iruka's shoulders appeared to crumble under the weight of relief and Kakashi suddenly noticed how tense the man had been a few seconds ago. " Well, I'm glad you were allowed to become an even older coot."

The jounin blinked in surprise, then he remembered it was still his birthday. A deep hearty rumble, his laugh, erupted from behind his mask. Even if his shaking shoulders awoke his half-healed wounds, making him wince in pain and wrap his arms protectively around his sides, he didn't stop laughing.

" Yeah, me too." He managed to choke out at last.

Indeed, with Iruka, it was never what he expected.


	5. Ch 03 Marching

Seeking Solace

**Title:** Marching.

**Genre: **Dark

**Characters: **HatakeKakashi

**Rating: **T, for violence and general ugliness.

**Progress** : Complete, One-shot.

**Summary:** One hundred and seventeen miles away.

**Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto.**

**AN: **Kakashi-centric drabble with hints of KakaIru, third installment of the series. This one stands for theme #5 Seeking Solace.

#5 Seeking Solace

The anbu's steps were unsteady and graceless as he trudged on through the mud. The dull throbbing of his wounds numbed his broken arm, making it dangle uselessly at his side. He knew that soon the cold would win over him out of sheer exhaustion; the shivers coursing over his spine where growing stronger and stronger. His body was growing desperate and his mind too. Still, he kept pushing on, walking ahead towards the distance. He wind in-between the twisted trees, stumbling over viciously hooked roots and dodging the reaching arms that really were only leafless branches but appeared so much more threatening in his mind.

Home was far away from there. More precisely, home was one hundred seventeen miles away from there, at a withdrawn table of Ichikaru's and bickering and rambling about missions, training, unruly students, fuzzy eyebrowed freaks and perverted sanins. He wondered if Sasuke would dare participate to the exchange or rather fall back into his old-time brooding out of habit. He wondered too if he would dare claim the seat next to Naruto or remain close to the comforting presence of an academy sensei who has already seen it all. He hoped he would dare. Both boys needed their friendship back badly. And he… no, Kakashi needed home, whilst him needed to slip back into oblivion. If the seat next to Iruka was empty, Kakashi could claim it.

A particularly rotten twig snapped under the weight of his step, warning the exhausted man with a resounding crack a second too late. The Hound crumbled into a boneless heap, meeting the murky swamp's soil knees first and face second. The muck tasted of green rotten moss and smelled acidic like dead insects.Trying not to wretch inside of his mask, he focused on more useful things than the fact that no air wanted to fill his lunges. He waited until the pain of his broken bones wasn't so overwhelming anymore and instead hoped that no serpents lurked close-by. Honestly, he wasn't up to play their antics anymore. He prayed he hadn't disturbed any of them. He'd had enough snakes for three lifetimes after Sound, anyway...

The shinobi's lids began to fall ever so slightly lower underneath the safe confines of a battered bone mask, leaving only a slit to peer out from. He was tired, and Obito's eye wouldn't stop crying. Yet, he didn't have the heart to tell it to shut the hell up anymore because he hurt too much at too many places as well. Crying made it feel better and they could always use better. He needed better right now.

When Hound woke back up, he discovered his limbs shrivelled and swollen from moisture and cursed. A beetle had also found temporary shelter in the relative warmth of his cloth mask. A beetle and many other seething things. Jerking awake into an almost frenzied state, he ripped off the Hound's face to claw off the parasites, uncaring when the dark blue cloth dropped in the mud nor when his ragged nails cut through the skin of his cheeks.

Kakashi almost cried along with Obito out of frustration, even if he didn't know what for anymore, but was instead assaulted by a strong nausea his sudden movements brought forth. Back on knees and forgetting he had even stood up at some point, he vomited a frightening amount of bile for a good ten minutes, on all fours. The wave of sickness left him drawing sharp, painful breaths in it's wake.

He attempted next to blink away the haze that had settled over him, looking at anything but the puddle that lay down in front of himself. He didn't want to acknowledge it. He didn't want to know what had been resting in his stomach, especially if it was of the kind that had nestled against his skin.

Finally, he sat back on his heels, reaching out to pick back up his bone mask, and slipped it back on. The caked mud around it's edge was ignored, his face was probably even worse. An inhuman effort got him back standing a few tries later and he restarted to march. Sometimes, his vision blurred because of all sorts of things. Mostly because he hadn't told his children, no students, that they were the best, and that he hadn't told Iruka that he wouldn't mind if the man screwed with him until they got gray hair. Well, until Iruka had gray hair… It was a little too late for his case. The chuckles that bubbled up at these thoughts were weak and hollow as he tried to picture an older version of the vibrant sensei. He imagined a merry old man sitting calmly in a rocking chair, holding a cat or and dog his lap.

His laugh died short when he wondered if Iruka would visit him from time to time at the memorial stone. His name would go on the bottom of that too long list, giving another reason for his chunin to despise it. He had to be realistic, if he died in this hell whole, there would be no body to bring back to the village. The stale water would swallow him whole. He'd only reappear years later, as rotten brown bones sprouting in-between equally dead branches, to trip another fugitive.

He was trudging in the aforementioned waters waist deep when he realised that he didn't want to die yet. Despite all his yearning for peace, he wasn't ready to let go yet.

At some point his reason snapped, but somehow his feet continue to move one before the other. The sole of his sandals became slippery with his own blood when he wasn't walking underwater, making him trip a whole lot more that he already did. He woke up a few snakes that way . The one who's fangs embedded into his arm wasn't the venomous one, he'd been quite certain of it once he'd crushed the animals skull against a tree stump. His proof being that he was still standing.

After this, there had been more blood on his arms too, just like his mouth that was filled with the sickening coppery taste. It was in every places where it didn't belong.

Still, he kept walking, on and on, because he couldn't leave yet. Night turned into day and day into days as the Hound marched.

He walked toward home, to flee the marsh that wanted to devour him whole.


	6. Ch 04 The Dark Knight and the Shower

#67 Fairy Tales.

Fairy tales were nice. They were predictable and persistent, and revealed happily ever afters more than half of the time. At least, they were always good lessons. If Konoha fell tomorrow, it's legends and tales would remain behind.

Fairy tales were the hopes that refused to leave the guts of adults no matter how hard they scrubbed. Fairy tales were bright, untouchable and immortal. That was why Iruka stopped believing in them the day he saw the gaping stomach and broken yellowish spikes of bones that were his mother's broken ribcage. Or tried to. Fairy tales weren't reality. He'd always preferred the first over the latter, but reality was more consistent.

It was stable in it's own chaotic way, just like the rest of his life. Chunin paper-pushers were only suited for telling fairy tales and certainly not for living them.

That was why he let out a manly gasp of surprise when he saw the tell tale evil knight looming in his shower, and it also explained why his completely illogical primal reason wondered if his testament was in order instead of signaling his body to retreat from the threat.

A threat that had been slumped in a quite pitiful mound, he might add now that he thought about it.

He guessed that was a good thing because he didn't quite feel like the strong knight in shining armour standing there in his worn-out checkered boxers, brandishing a toilet brush. Of all weapons he could find, he'd had to land on the toilet brush. What about the damsel in distress, one may ask? A ninja teenager with an horrible fashion sense whom cost him an arm and a leg to feed every week.

Sometimes, the life of a knight sucked.

There was no denying it. His only consolation was that he hadn't wound up stuck with Gai. That damsel in distress certainly had an even worse sense of fashion than Naruto, and probably ate just as much to compensate for his training. He also probably ate healthy, which cost twice as much as ramen.

A certain silver-haired sensei's life probably sucked even more than his; what with being stuck with both of the hyperactive beasts.

Heh.

Despite the dire peril his life, and dignity, currently were in, Iruka managed to smirk. Of course, the humanoid mould of dark armour, bones and dead stuff chose that moment to stir.

A slamming door and a dive behind an ugly couch later, the academy sensei actually considered the situation under a slightly more critical eye. First, he regretted his friends advice to "relax a little". History had already warned him many, many times; these evenings of "relaxation" never ended well. Teachers had too much imagination and a too regular pay-check to not go wild when they had a good excuse. Any excuses were good enough for most of them. He learned being down-spirited was part of the "good enough" list and since he had been the down-spirited one, he was consequently invited to many drinking contests to thank him.

That was why he still wasn't thinking straight and kept blaming his co-workers when he should really try to save his hide. The intruder certainly had the time to stage a very painful death by now and perhaps design his coffin as well...

Five minutes later, Iruka was starting to get insulted. There had been no monstrous weapons tearing at his door, no devastating jutsus nor death threats, and he was still standing and very whole. The punk would severely regret it if he underestimated him that much. In fact, the academy sensei oddly considered going in and give a piece of his mind to this shower psycho when he abruptly stopped in the middle of his living room.

He'd have probably missed the mask entirely if it hadn't been of the faint glint of light that caught the polished bone surface.

As he studied it's aggressive tribal marks under the dim moonlight, the man's thoughts resumed pretty much in two words: "Oh shit."

A teacher could dealt with hellions, a desk-worker could deal with tired and angry jounins, but he, little Umino Iruka, certainly didn't know how to deal with a trained perfected killing machine borrowing his shower at three in the morning. His gaze danced back and forth in-between the slit of light peeking from underneath his bathroom door and the toilet brush still clutched tightly in his grasp as the teacher debated.

Which really only meant that his brain kept wondering what was going on, but it was still worth a try. The most unsettling thing was that now that the surprise had settled back down, his instinct apparently didn't consider the ANBU as a threat. After all, most killers usually didn't let their victim spot them hiding behind the shower curtain. Reluctantly straightening his back, he dropped his defensive stance and lowered the bathroom article.

Repeating these reassuring thoughts endlessly in his frenzied mind eventually managed to make the chunin believe it. So, instead of doing something safe(like planting explosive tags around the entire perimeter of the house and running like hell), Iruka knocked on the door three times and waited.

Only silence ensued from the other side.

Oh how he regretted sleeping naked.

Swallowing hard and readying his "weapon" to deflect any projectiles, the chunin next made a very foolish attempt at opening the door.

The small, overly clustered bathroom had remained unchanged on the other side with it's ugly peppermint green walls, the thousands of dirty towels and clothes strewn across the floor, the various bathroom items cluttering every horizontal surfaces and, more importantly, without deadly traps to greet him. His bathroom was just the way he had left it, safe for that little corner caked in half-dried mud and the open window. Doing a double take to look at the huge blister of dirt and blood that trailed from his tiny bathroom window to the curled up form of the ANBU, Iruka took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. A few minutes later, he was still eyeing the intruder wearily, but his hands had stilled and the brush had been stuck back in it's holder.

Then, he noticed the leech.

A very ugly and fat leech sitting on the middle of a white tile and slowly creeping towards a discarded brown sock.

Iruka didn't not scream nor shudder for he was a shinobi, but the thing met a very, very violent end. Squished by a trash can. Alas, the puddle of blood it created in it's wake didn't help to ease the teacher's nerves in anyway.

"Anbu-san." His voice was perfectly calm and steady when he spoke, if a little bit on the demanding side. He had apparently fallen back in annoyed desk-tender mode.

The fearsome and somehow miserable creature barely stirred from the corner it had buried itself into. Iruka had to admit the poor guy really looked like shit. He'd would have probably offered him help if he hadn't been so busy being freaked out of his skin by this whole mess.

"Anbu-san, what are you doing here?" He asked again, daring to take an hesitant step toward his visitor. " You need to get to the hospital." That much was obvious, if only by the amount of red that the tiny room was currently containing.

"No." If haughty and barely audible, the man's answer was at least crystal clear. It also confirmed the shinobi's gender from it's gruff and deep tone, even the worse throat ache couldn't make a woman sound like that.

The meaning behind the word sank in next, leaving the teacher with the grim realization that the other wasn't about to leave anytime soon. Which meant he would have to take care of him. The anbu wanted to be tended to by him. Confusion clear across his face, the chunin slowly trudged to the tub's side and carefully settled on it's side, all the while cursing his reputation as a dependable person.

" You've been injured." Another evident statement; if the blood wasn't enough, the way the man held his left side protectively betrayed it all.

" Here, let me help you." There were times where he severely regretted being kind-hearted, it made him sputter non-sense like this at the most uncanny moments. He almost regretted it as much as his tendency to sleep naked or the fact that Naruto would probably inherit all his savings very way too soon.

However, while he came to these conclusions, his body proceeded to step inside the shower, still moving at a snail's pace to avoid startling any combat reflexes on the assassin's side, and ultimately rested his hand on the man's shoulder.

The ANBU didn't flinch, he literally hissed and jerked away from him. The shower head brushed dangerously close Iruka's cheek as he stumbled back, and it would have hit home, fracturing his temple, if the ANBU hadn't changed it's course at the very last second. Scrambling back up with all of his half-arsed serenity thrown out the window, the academy sensei held up in hands in sign of surrender, wondering about too many things at the same time to really understand any of his own thoughts. Most of them told him to make a run for his life.

Some of them, mostly of the rational kind, observed that the shinobi's shoulder was dislocated. He got that much now that the stranger was standing back upright and starring at him through a oddly familiar hodded eye. There was still too much brown and cloth everywhere else for him to find out whom it was, but that alone already made the chunin's mind reel even quicker.

He knew a killer. Alright, he had to concede he knew lots of them. However, this was not only a shinobi, but a cold-hearted serial killer. An assassin of the worst kind, an ANBU.

His throat was suddenly cluttered by a lump, but the teacher still moved back forward. "We'll need wash off the grime and strip you from that armor first. I can't see a thing with those." He stated, as much to himself as to the other man. This one only nodded once.

Reaching around the stinking mass to turn the taps on revealed to be an harder feat than he thought.

He was pleased when a soothingly hot stream of water crashed on the both of them , smiling reassuringly at his "charge" when this one hissed again. The bottom of the tub quickly filled with so much dirt he hardly discerned his toes anymore, but by then Iruka didn't care anymore. Instead, he busied himself with unclasping the once white breast plate, then the arm guards, followed by the clawed gloves. In the end, only the man's black hooded tank top and pants remained, turning the warrior into something slightly more human than a moment before.

He was also beginning to discern a face and strangely enough the long straight nose and high cheek bones and strong jaw reminded him of no one. The familiar stranger appeared to be content with simply standing underneath the jet of scalding water, keeping both of his eyes scrunched close to ward them against the thick trails of dirt and blood that cascaded around him.

He should really remove the hood, Iruka thought. It would take hours to remove the grime that had to be in his hair if he let it up. In fact, he should pretty much remove all the clothes; they were in ruins.

Iruka fretted.

He didn't even know if it was legal to discover an ANBU operative's identity. Of course, the other had let him do until now, but perhaps he was only completely delirious…

"Anbu-san?" He tried again after a moment.

"Hn?"

Alright, that wasn't exactly the answer Iruka had been hoping for, but it was a beginning.

" Should I… Can I continue?" All of his self-assurance seemed to deflate instantly as he spoke aloud, and he wished the ground would swallow him whole when that dark eye creaked back open and looked up at him in earnest confusion. The sensei found himself vaguely motioning in the direction of the rest of the man's attire.

Silence stretched in-between them, thick and choking and implying so much lack of communication that Iruka wondered how come they didn't suffocate from the thickness of the air.

What a Saturday morning, really. Some people slept in while others stripped ANBU agents and dodged bathroom appliances. He would have laughed at the thought if he hadn't been living it.

Finally, the other gave another curt nod, his grimace quickly reappearing. " You really should have went to the hospital…" He found himself trailing off, regardless of usual ethics. After all, if the other had wanted to follow the etiquette, he certainly wouldn't have shown up in the middle of the night. The faint shrug of the slumped shoulders gave enough reassurance to the chunin to allow him to draw back the black hood of the taller man.

Iruka didn't know what kind of hair he had expected from the tiny bits of a face he had glimpsed, but the silver strands that peeked left and right from underneath the thick layer of mud hadn't been it.

In fact, he dropped the bottle of shampoo he had just collected.

A myriad of emotions crashed over him. Relief came first he supposed, Kakashi had disappeared for a full month since their last encounter, but then there was also so much shock and even anger too. He had known Hatake Kakashi was probably the best ninja Konoha had to offer, but he dared to hope that he hadn't been the best killer too. At some point, the teacher's body began to work on it's on, continuing the work he had started. He peeled off the fitting tank top, being extremely careful to the gaping gash on the man's left side and his dislocated shoulder. After, he undid the clasp of his pants, letting them drop unceremoniously into the pond of liquid muck at their feet, leaving the legenday ninja only in a pair of low dark blue boxers.

He didn't even care.

When he was done, he found Kakashi staring at him in an odd mix of resignation, exhaustion and some other negative… things, but he couldn't bring himself to talk. It was obvious the older man was disappointed by something. The growing numbness in his chest told him that he didn't really care about that either.

Iruka had slept with that man. Strangely enough, the awkward friendship and relationship they had established during the last three months only served to make Iruka feel more ambiguous. He even forgot to really look at the man's face now that his skin wasn't hidden underneath an inch of mud anymore.

Kakashi opened his mouth and shut it back again without making the slightest sound, and then winced.

" Get out of here and take a seat on the couch, I'll fetch the medical kit and be right there." He ordered, as if the tall grown adult towering over him with his droopy mop of gray hair and old eyes was six again. His voice mirrored the stunned detachment he felt, but Kakashi didn't seem to mind. He only nodded and slowly inched toward the bath's edge. Iruka helped him out when he saw the man's balance weaver twice, putting a steadying hand on his unharmed shoulder and acting as an anchor while the rest of the world went on a silly carrousel ride for the exhausted ANBU. The chunin watched him wearily, out of worry because of him and for him all at once as the lanky body slowly trudged itself toward the door, leaning heavily on the walls for support. Iruka remembered shut the taps off when the water suddenly turned frigid minutes later.

When he emerged from the bathroom with his medical kit in hand, he found his friend sprawled over the entire length of his couch. It was a position that Kakashi assumed many times before, wanting to appear relaxed and at ease, but this time he wasn't succeeding. Maybe it was only the absence of the mask that made him notice these things, but the man's jaw was clenched tight and his expression steely. When Iruka silently crept up to the couch, the other's eye remained locked onto the ceiling above them.

A frown appearing over his own features, the brunette silently stopped at the ANBU's side.

"Hey…"

The eye darted into Iruka's direction, sharingan concealed underneath a closed eyelid. The teacher held the jounin's gaze for a long moment before adverting his eyes. They accidentally fell onto the distinctive red swirling tattoo on the man's shoulder and he had to fight the urge of grimacing. Instead, he sat next to Kakashi's hips, passing on the long practiced expectant mentor look. Stubbornness apparently chose that moment to kick, the jounin stayed quiet.

"How am I suppose to treat your wounds if you keep lying on them?"

The jounin slowly pulled up on his elbows with heavy languorous movements. Iruka's eyes couldn't help but follow the arch of the defined chest and the thin waist down to the thin trail of gray hair that disappeared underneath the waistband of drenched boxers. Both men remained shoulder to shoulder for a moment, silence still refusing to depart.

Kakashi's damp hair tingled Iruka's shoulder.

A hand grabbed his and placed it against the feverish skin of the ANBU's disabled shoulder, suddenly jerking the brunette out of his reverie. He almost apologized, but stopped short when the man's chin moved to rest against the tip of his shoulder. Throwing an inquisitive glance in the direction of the other, Iruka stopped short on that eye again. The absurd need to launch himself at the other and him to beat him to a pulp birthed into his gut, as crazy as it was. Kakashi was already hurt enough and Iruka would probably found himself sprawled on the floor within the blink of eye, but somehow…

Maybe it would bring back awareness to that dark, fantomless eye.

The urge was quelled down as he spent the following hour cleaning, sewing and bandaging the man's gashes, cuts and bite marks, until Iruka eventually came to understand something. The nagging thought never left his mind, even as he listened to his lover's pained gasp when he reset his shoulder nor when he rubbed his back soothingly in the aftermath. The sun was slowly dawning over their village when his fingers finally left the last red spot on the Kakashi's collar bone, a leech bitemark, and fell limply into his lap. The chunin gave an accessing look to his handy work. The ANBU was still exhausted beyond human limits and half-devoured, but he looked a little bit more like himself.

He was still waiting to come back too. The far away look wasn't gone either.

Iruka found himself forcing a smile for the first time that night, mostly because he had no other choice, and he continued to sit there quietly, because there was nothing else left to do either.

A blink later Kakashi literally fell forward and against Iruka's chest.

" You know, diplomacy is a thing that exists, Kakashi." He stated at last. Mirth made the teacher's voice waver with a chuckle that wasn't quite there yet.

A strong wiry arm squeezed him tight, trapping him into a nearly bone crushing hug, and the jounin's shoulders began to shake with silent laughter or something else Iruka didn't really want to think about.

"So,… it's alright?" The other's question was muffled into the crook of his neck, but years of teaching allowed him to discern the words despite that. Iruka found himself wishing he had just clubbed the crazy fool in the head when he had the chance. "Of course. Welcome back home." He found himself saying, because, despite his better judgment, he was a kind-hearted person and all that. Such was the life of the knight in proverbial shinning armor… or really boxers, as Naruto kindly pointed out when he woke back from his over-eating induced coma and stumbled in the living room.

Iruka guessed it was a good thing the teen kept shouting how " his perverts of senseis" should really "get a fucking room" because "them mating was the last thing he wanted to see at seven on a Saturday morning" with his eyes squirmed firmly shut. It gave the time to Kakashi to retrieve his discarded bone mask and make it vanish and Iruka also locked the bathroom door to ward it as off limits until the mess in there was dealt with.

That was, of course, was after he nearly fell off the couch laughing, but still in a record time.

It was only once the blond retreated back into the kitchen for the sake of his innocent eyes that Iruka turned back to Kakashi. The cloth mask was back into place, his single eye crinkling up in it's usual merry fashion. He smiled back. A few seconds passed before the jounin slowly made his way toward the kitchen as well.

The entire night suddenly appeared incredibly surreal to the chunin. He remained sitting there for another fifteen minutes and got up only when the voice of Naruto called his name twice and added the word coffee after it. Kakashi was still in the kitchen when he got there, standing crouched on the window sill with half of his body already out of the place. He plunged off with a silent wave to the both of them.

The difference in-between reality and fairy tales was quite simple to Iruka: reality was what remained even after you stopped believing it.

Hours later, after Naruto left and Iruka slipped back into his bathroom, he was rediscovered all the horror of the bloody mess under the sunlight. Kakashi had left his armor behind, the hound mask now sitting on top of the pile.

He decided then that the long awaited plea for trust and acceptance was indeed very real and smiled.


End file.
